She's the Murderero!
by DragonLadie
Summary: Very short alternate ending to "Lights, Camera, Homicido"


Story Notes:

**Story Notes:**

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Author's Chapter Notes:**

Sorry, a bit short. No follow-up planned, meant as a stand alone

It was a mistake… all of it.

The first sound was a startled squeak- not up to par with the panicked rambles from seconds in the past.

Slowly lowering his eyes to the neat row of nail heads, Shawn chuckled as the first drop rolled lazily down the front of his shirt- catching in the soft fibers on its journey down the khaki fabric. The colors looked sorta pretty side by side- though the spreading stain was somewhat off center. It bothered him a little.

The line of color wetting his shirt thickened and he blinked, wondering why everyone was still hurrying past him like they were running through water. He wanted to point out that there was something different about him… something that hadn't been there moments ago. However, the voice he meant to use seemed to be on standby. Well that just sucked.

Abruptly his knees became distracted by something shiny. Seconds later his ass acquainted itself with the concrete floor. While his backside was still exchanging greetings, his head joined the conversation rather rudely.

_Now_ they noticed him.

_"Shawn…?"_

_"What happ… SHIT!"_

_"Oh my God!"_

He chuckled again. Gus was probably going to tell him licking it would make it feel better. Sure thing, but he thought the angle might make it hard for his tongue to reach.

_"Call an ambulance dammit!!"_

_"Hold on Spencer… Shit- I didn't know she hit him!!"_

Of course they hit… it wasn't like he was fifty feet away and behind a cement wall. Hell, he didn't even have time to dodge.

Why the hell couldn't he breathe…?

_"Don't pull them out- you could make it worse!!"_

_"How long until the ambulance gets here!?"_

_"ETA is about three minutes…"_

_"Perfect- he's only bleeding out as we speak! Someone get me something else to hold on his chest, this shirt isn't cutting it!!"_

So _that's_ why he couldn't breathe- damn Lassy and his deceivingly heavy weight- did the guy have a backpack full of bricks on his shoulders?

"Fuck! Dammit Spencer- don't you dare…!"

_What? Dare what? I dare you! Besides, my eyes are tired… Just need to close them for a second. I'll open them right up again, I swear…_

"Shawn!!"

_I'll… be right… back…_

0o0o0o0o0

_Oh… damn- Damn- DAMN!!_

_HELL!!_

"DUDE that hurts!!"

"Thank God!"

_Thank God?? Seriously- this was nothing to be grateful fo_-_**"GAHHH!!"**_

Shawn snapped his eyes open in a shock of pain- trying to lurch away from the hands crushing on his right side.

"AHH- FUCK!!" He screamed, finding it impossible to twist away from the agony.

"Spencer- quit bitching before I give you a reason to!"

Shawn stared at the detective. "You ARE giving me a reason to!!" He twisted again as Lassiter just bore down harder, apparently attempting to push his hands directly into his chest cavity.

Why the hell was he still on the set?? Passing out meant that when he next opened his eyes he'd be all cozy in a hospital bed with a naughty nurse all set to play out her naughty, naughty fantasies.

"Lay off!!"

Apparently that just translated into 'please introduce my ribs to my spine'.

"I can't- one of these damn things must have hit an artery…"

Oh perfect. They were soooo never hiring him for a role reprisal… though he wondered if they caught this on film…. That would be bitchin'…

"Ow- OW!! Lassy- God!!"

"Much as I appreciate the comparison, if you don't quit you'll be meeting him soon enough! Now lie still!"

He had a response to that- he really did, but damn if he couldn't remember what it was. Shit- shit- shit this hurts!! _Please, someone get me a damn Tylenol or six!!_

Wonderful, now he could taste it in the back of his throat.

Oh hooray, he was passing out aga...

0o0o0o0o0

Now he was in a hospital.

He could hear the familiar beep that informed him he hadn't actually died. Sure, like they knew.

"I told you high school Spanish would come back on you."

Oh God not now. What was this- torture Shawn Spencer week?

"Go… 'way… d-dad…"

And where was the naughty nurse?? This was just so not fair.

"Kid, why did you hand over the murder weapon if you knew the thing was loaded?"

_I'm not opening my eyes, I'm not opening my eyes, he'll think I'm asleep and eventually go away._

"Shawn, you just spoke, I know you're awake."

_Dammit_.

The hazy blink coalesced on the face of his father- the expression that same bland look the old man wore when Shawn ate only pineapple for three days straight and was forced to stay home from school on the fourth after the inevitable bowel revolt. Funny, he still had nothing but good feelings about his favorite fruit.

"I… don't need… bathroom…"

His father sighed. "I don't care what kind of pain medication you're on, you aren't getting out of this that easily."

He was on pain meds? That explained the warm fuzzies. He sure wasn't getting them from Mr. Stinkyface McGrouse.

What was the question?

"Did… get the… bad guy…?"

Another sigh… and then, suddenly, a hand brushed lightly at his hair.

"Yeah… they got the bad guy."

Awesome.

Man, being an actor rocked…

This was SO going on his résumé.

"I'm gonna… sleep now…"

"Shawn…"

"Night dad…"

The hand patted on his arm, followed by sigh number three. Even with his eyes closed he was sure the old man was shaking his head.

"Night kiddo. I'll see you in the morning."

Next time he hit the stage though, he was wearing a vest.


End file.
